Santiago
by Danja
Summary: The Birds confront a gang lord with a bloodlust.
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: Birds of Prey, its characters, and concepts are the property of Warner Brothers, Tollin-Robbins Productions & DC Comics.

****

Santiago

Chapter One

* * *

Gabby and Dinah were walking home from the library early one evening. Dinah was carrying her schoolbooks and a plastic grocery bag that contained a pound of tomatoes that she had promised to buy for Alfred on her way home.

"I saw you staring at him!" accused Gabby half-jokingly.

"I was not staring at him!" Dinah shot back teasingly in reply.

Neither of them noticed the late-model metallic green Honda Civic pulling up to the curb just ahead of them. A tall, wiry man with close-cropped dark hair, dark wraparound sunglasses, and a black trenchcoat got out of the passenger side. He wore the trenchcoat like a cloak -- fastened at the neck, draped over his body, and concealing his arms. He walked to within thirty paces of Dinah and Gabby, produced a silenced MP5 from underneath his coat, and began blasting away at Dinah.

Gabby could only scream in horror as Dinah collapsed facedown onto the sidewalk, lying in the pool of blood that had begun to collect underneath her.

The shooter turned on one heel, ran back towards his car, and jumped in. Tires squealing, the Honda made a U-turn and roared away into the night.


	2. Chapter Two

****

Chapter Two

* * *

Helena and Barbara were gathered in the emergency room at St. Vincent's Hospital. Helena was pacing restlessly in front of Barbara (who was sitting in her wheelchair against the wall, as stoic as a samurai).

"How can you be so calm?" Helena ejaculated to Barbara.

"I'm not," Barbara replied quietly. "I'm as angry and outraged as you are."

"You sure don't look it."

"There's nothing to be gained from … emotional outbursts."

_Thank you, Mr. Spock, _Helena thought bitterly.

Barbara wheeled out from her place along the wall and stopped Helena mid-pace, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Dinah is depending upon us," she said. "If we're to have a prayer of bringing whoever did this to her to justice, we need to keep a cool head and our wits about us."

"I understand."

"Barbara Gordon?" said a voice -- male -- to Barbara's right.

Barbara turned towards the voice as the man -- a stocky balding figure in a white lab coat who carried a clipboard and wore a stethoscope around his neck -- called Barbara's name once again.

"I'm Barbara Gordon," she said as she wheeled over to the man.

"I'm Dr. Ross," said the man as he introduced himself to Barbara.

"How's Dinah?" Barbara asked.

"She's … in a coma," Dr. Ross replied. "She took five shots to the abdominal region … mainly to the liver and intestinal areas. She's sustained massive internal injuries. " Dr. Ross paused. "Her … meta healing factor … is probably the only thing keeping her alive right now. Those injuries would've killed anyone else."

"Will she make it?" asked Helena.

"This is Helena. Dinah's … sister," said Barbara as she made the introductions.

"We don't know," said Dr. Ross gravely. "Right now, it's up to her." Dr. Ross paused. "Both of you can see her if you like. One at a time … and only for a few minutes. She really needs her rest."

"Thank you, Doctor," said Barbara.

* * *

Helena took a seat next to the unconscious Dinah's bed in the ICU. Dinah's left wrist was hooked up to an IV. A heart monitor beeped nearby.

"Hi," said Helena. "I'm so sorry," she said, her voice choked with emotion. She then took Dinah's hand in her own, held it against her cheek, and said, her voice barely above a whisper, "God as my witness, I'm gonna kill the bastard who did this to you."


	3. Chapter Three

****

Chapter Three

* * *

__

Encrypted Journal Entry -- Barbara Gordon

October 9th

According to Delphi, police have traced the plates on the suspect vehicle -- one late model metallic green Honda Civic -- to one Pablo Felipe Chavez, alias "Chaco". He's 29 and lives with his mother in an apartment in Hell's Kitchen, although he hasn't been seen there in weeks. He has priors for assault, petty theft, and grand theft auto.

There's no report of the car being stolen at the time of the shooting. This indicates that either (1) Chavez was the driver that night or (2) he knows who did it. Either way, this indicates some level of involvement in the crime … which furthermore makes him an accessory to attempted murder.

If nothing else, we may have a lead on the driver. Unfortunately, the identity of our shooter remains as yet undetermined.

* * *

Alfredo "Fredo" Vargas was a reformed ex-car thief and small-time drug dealer who was now working as a bicycle messenger. Occasionally, he also served as one of The Huntress's street informants. He was tall, almost skeletal in appearance, and had short dark curly hair.

When Huntress found him that evening, he was engaging in his typical Thursday night after-hours routine -- shooting baskets on a deserted concrete court near the corner of 10th and 18th Street.

"Yo, Fredo!" Huntress called out to him.

Fredo turned towards Huntress. "_Chica!_" he called out to her with a grin.

"_Como estás?_"

"_No muy bien,_" Fredo said with a shrug. _Nothing much._

"How's your mother?"

"She's fine," said Fredo.

"Good, good," said Huntress. "Listen, I've got a favor to ask you." She paused. "I'm lookin' for someone … name's Pablo Chavez. Goes by the street name 'Chaco'. Heard of him?"

Fredo winced. "_Muy mal_," he said. "Bad news. _Mejor _gang-banger. Ex-Latin King."

"_EX_-Latin King?" Huntress's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "The only ex-Latin Kings _I _know are either in the cemetery or in the morgue."

"He's been runnin' with this new crew … calls themselves 'The Golden Bats'."

_Why don't I like the sound of that name?_ thought Huntress. "Who's runnin' him … and how'd he get out of the Kings with his life?"

"The Golden Bats are relatively small … maybe the Kings don't consider them a threat?" said Fredo. "Maybe they're counting on him returning to the fold." Fredo paused. "He's being run by a man named Salazar."

"You know where he hangs out at?"

"_Sí_," said Fredo. "Place called the 9-1-1 Club on the Upper West Side. Him and that babe-magnet car of his."

Huntress couldn't help but suppress a giggle at that last statement. "I know the place," she said. "Thanks for your help, Fredo," she said as she reached into her coat pocket and slipped him a fifty-dollar-bill. "I really appreciate this."

"If I may ask, why are you looking for him?"

"One of his punk pals tried to ventilate a friend of mine."

"Oh, no…" exclaimed Fredo as he clasped his hand over his mouth in horror. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah," said Huntress mournfully. "She's in a coma at St. Vincent's Hospital."

"I hope you find the shooter."

"Yeah," said Huntress. "She's only sixteen."

Fredo looked at the fifty-dollar-bill in his hand. "Here," he said, handing the bill back to Huntress. "I can't accept this."

"You sure?" said Huntress as she accepted the bill.

"Sick," said Fredo, shaking his head. "Who would do such a thing … and to a sixteen-year-old girl?"

"I dunno," said Huntress. "That's what I'd like to find out."

"Call me if you need me ... I want to help."

"Thanks, Fredo," said Huntress. "I will." She then turned, ran away, and disappeared into the night.

* * *

"Huntress, please be careful," said Oracle over the comm as Huntress made her way through the crowded nightclub. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"What's with you … Dinah giving you spy reports from beyond?" said Huntress with a laugh.

"Huntress, I'm serious," said Oracle. "I can't explain it." She paused. "Call it … a premonition," she said with a sigh.

"Am I not always careful?"

"I'm not going anywhere near that one," Oracle deadpanned as Huntress approached the bar. Remembering his profile from the mug shot Oracle had shown her earlier at The Clocktower, she spotted Chavez sitting at the bar, nursing a beer. He was a stocky man in his late twenties with a square jaw, a pug nose, and close-cropped dark hair.

"You Chaco?" Huntress asked Chavez.

"Who wants to know?" came the reply.

"You first."

"Who wants to know?"

"I've got some business to discuss."

"So let's talk…"

"Not here," said Huntress. "Outside."

* * *

"So let's talk," said Chavez. Huntress and Chavez were in the rear of the club. Chavez's car was parked behind them.

"Who shot Dinah Lance?" interrogated Huntress.

"I dunno what you're talking about."

"_BULLSHIT!_" hissed Huntress. "Your car was used in the shooting … and it wasn't reported stolen. This means that either you were the driver that night … or you know who did it. Either way, you're in this up to your eyeballs. Now…" Huntress paused for effect. "Who was the shooter?"

"I don't have time for this." With that, Chavez turned to leave. As he did so, Huntress delivered one kick to his stomach and a second kick to his chest, pinning him against the side of his car. Before Chavez could react, she planted the sole of her boot against his Adam's apple, choking him.

"Huntress, you've got bad guys on your three," said Oracle over the comm.

Huntress looked to her right. Coming straight towards her were four burly henchmen, each of them weighing -- at a minimum -- north of three hundred pounds.

"_GET HER!_" cried Chavez.

Huntress broke away from Chavez and engaged the henchmen, but to no avail. She kicked and punched … but there was nothing she could do that could stop the oncoming tidal wave of muscle and flesh. Two men grabbed her wrists while the other two each forced her to her knees and stepped on her calves, pinning her to the sidewalk. She was now on her knees, spread-eagle, and helpless.

"Huntress, are you all right?" Oracle screamed frantically over the comm. "_HUNTRESS!_"

Chavez advanced towards Huntress. "NO ONE…" boomed Chavez as he punctuated his words with a kick to Huntress's stomach. "DOES THAT…" Kick. "TO ME..." Kick. "…_EVER!_" Another kick.

On and on it went … kick after kick … blow after blow … for what seemed like an eternity. _Mother, help me, _Huntress pleaded silently. Shoots of pain ran through her body.

Chavez reached into his back pocket, pulled out a butterfly knife, and swung it open. "Such a pretty face," said Chavez as he waved the knife menacingly. "But it could use a little … plastic surgery."

Just as he was about to strike, he suddenly dropped the knife, screamed in agony, and grabbed his crotch. The next moment, he found himself thrown backwards and off balance, almost as if some invisible entity had kicked him in the jaw.

Neither Huntress nor the four henchmen who were restraining her could believe what they were seeing: an invisible entity was fighting Chavez! The four henchmen each stared goggle-eyed at the scene that was transpiring before them.

The entity proceeded to repeatedly pound Chavez's forehead into the hood of his car. The entity then delivered the _coup de grace_: a haymaker to the jaw that sent the bleeding Chavez onto the sidewalk -- unconscious.

_¡Fantasmas!_ screamed one of the henchmen. _Ghosts!_ With that, all four of them released their grip on Huntress (causing the battered and barely conscious superhero to limply fall to the sidewalk like a rag doll), turned, and ran away into the night.

_Don't try to get up, _said a faint soft (feminine?) voice in Huntress's ear as she struggled to get to her feet. Huntress's head was swimming with pain and disbelief -- the visitation from Hell was now a gentle angel of mercy. Exhausted by the effort, she finally collapsed unconscious onto the sidewalk.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

* * *

Helena slept in a bunk at the Clocktower while Barbara -- in her wheelchair -- maintained a silent vigil at her right elbow. Huntress's earlier failure to respond to her comm had prompted Barbara to go out into the field and investigate.

Helena moaned, stirred, opened her eyes, and sat up in bed. She winced as a jolt of pain suddenly went up from her stomach.

"Take it easy," said Barbara as she put a hand on Helena's shoulder and gently eased her back down onto the bed. "Just lie still."

"Where am I?" Helena asked.

"The Clocktower."

"How did I get here?"

"When you didn't answer your comm, I got worried," said Barbara. "I went out looking for you."

"How did you bring me back here … you being in the chair and all?"

"I carried you … part of the way."

"Using the transponder?"

"Yes … Look, never mind me," said Barbara. "I'm more worried about you." She paused. "What happened back there?"

"Four of Chavez's goons jumped me," said Helena. "Held me down … beat me." She paused. "Look, I know I should've been able to take em on…"

"It's all right," said Barbara quietly. "Don't worry about it." She paused. "I've been there."

"You have?"

Barbara nodded. "You're talking to someone who once went fifteen rounds with Bane."

"Bane … Six feet, seven inches … Four hundred pounds … _THAT _Bane?!"

Barbara nodded and smiled. "Threw me … or rather Batgirl … against a brick wall during a raid."

"Ouch!"

Barbara smiled and let out a light laugh. " 'Ouch' is right." She paused. "Got three cracked ribs and a lecture from Batman about 'restraining my impulses' for my trouble."

Helena couldn't help but laugh at that last statement. After the laughter had died down, Barbara said, "Getting back to Chavez … Did you get free? Did you counter-attack? I noticed Chavez lying on the ground nearby bleeding."

"Here's where it gets weird," said Helena. "I was saved by Casper the Friendly Ghost."

" 'Casper the Friendl-'…" Barbara shook her head in bewilderment. "Explain."

"Some invisible … creature … just beat the snot outta Chavez."

" 'Invisible creature' … you're serious?"

"Yeah, I'm serious. Saw it with my own two eyes."

Barbara shook her head in bemusement. "It's late," she said. "You need your rest." She paused. "We can talk more in the morning." She paused again. "I ran a scan on you earlier," she said. "I didn't see any broken bones."

"That's good."

Barbara wheeled herself over to the door. "Good night," she said as she opened the door.

"Good night."

Barbara left the room and closed the door, leaving Helena alone in bed with her thoughts. _What _WAS_ that thing that saved me … and who was the mysterious woman who spoke to me?_

_Hello, Helena, _said a voice -- Dinah's -- in Helena's ear.

Helena sat bolt upright in bed. "Who's there?" she asked.

__

It's me … Dinah.

"That's impossible," said Helena. "The Dinah _I_ know is in a coma at St. Vincent's Hospital."

__

I'm still trying to figure this out myself.

"Where are you?"

__

I'm sitting right next to you.

Helena glanced around the room. She was as alone as before. "This is _NOT_ happening."

__

The fight was real.

"Fight? What fight?"

_The fight with Chavez._

_The thing that cleaned his clock, _Helena thought. "That was _YOU?_"

__

Yes.

Helena shook her head in confusion. "Back up a minute," she said. "How did all … _THIS_ … happen?" She paused. "I guess what I'm asking is how … _WHY _… did you do this?"

_I dunno, _said Dinah. _Boredom?_

"Boredom…"

_Nothing to do but lie in bed all day,_ said Dinah. _Plus, my roommate has the _WORST_ taste in TV. _She sighed. _If it isn't Jerry Springer, Jenny Jones, or Ricki Lake, it's reruns of "Law & Order", "JAG", and "Walker, Texas Ranger" … it goes without saying that I was bored outta my skull._

"You still haven't answered my question … How'd you get here?"

__

I'm not sure exactly how it happened. I guess one day I just … well, I suppose you could say I "willed" myself out of my room. The next thing I knew, I was flying over the street. Later on, I got the idea to start following you around.

"How were you able to fight … and how did you know about Chavez?"

_At first, I wasn't able to fight, _said Dinah. _I was just punching, kicking … you know, doing what comes naturally._

"_THAT _didn't work."

__

Then I remembered what the ghost in the subway told Patrick Swayze in "Ghost" … you know, "use your mind … not your hands." It was then that I got the idea to turn on the PK.

"And all Hell broke loose," said Helena. "Your foster parents actually let you watch that movie?"

_No,_ said Dinah mournfully. _I caught a little bit of it on cable one time when they weren't around._

A grin broke out across Helena's face. _Kid's like me, _she thought. _A rebel._

_To tell you the truth, _said Dinah. _I've never seen a complete movie._

Helena's eyebrow's shot upwards in disbelief. "You're kidding…"

__

No, I'm not.

"You've never seen 'Bambi?' "

__

No.

"What was wrong with it?"

__

They viewed it as being a "gateway to the occult".

Helena puzzled over that one. "How is that possible?"

__

They regarded the animals as being "demon-possessed".

"How were they … 'demon-possessed'?"

__

How else were they able to talk?

Helena slapped the heel of her palm against her forehead. _Give me strength, Lord. _"Getting back to Chavez," she said as she regained her composure. "How did you know about him?"

_I've been following the case._

_Duh._ "I never did get anything out of him about the shooter," Helena said ruefully.

_Maybe _YOU _didn't, _said Dinah. _But _I _did._

"Huh?"

_The shooter's name is Jorge Avila,_ said Dinah. _He hangs out at the Anchor Bar near the Chelsea Piers._

Helena's face broke out in a wide grin. "Dinah, I could kiss you!" she gushed. "How do you know all this?"

_While you two were busy fighting, I ran a probe on Chavez, _said Dinah. _What's more, Chavez was the driver the night of the shooting._

"That figures … seeing as how it was it was _HIS_ car."

__

There's something that bothers me.

"What?"

__

You said you were going to kill the man who shot me. It scares me when you say things like that.

A chill ran down Helena's spine. "You _HEARD _me?"

__

Yes.

All of the breath suddenly left Helena's body.

__

I really should go.

"Umm … yeah. Sure. Good night, Dinah."

__

Good night.

"Does this mean you'll be sticking around?"

_I want to help, _said Dinah.


	5. Chapter Five

****

Chapter Five

* * *

"Miss Helena … Miss Helena…" Alfred gently shook Helena's shoulder, attempting to rouse her from sleep.

"Hunh … Wha…" Helena mumbled, stirred in her bunk, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Morning, Alfred," she said as she looked up at the towering figure of Alfred Pennyworth standing over her bed.

"Breakfast is served."

Helena sat up and looked around the room. Sitting atop a nearby desk was a breakfast tray. Sitting atop the tray were a bagel on a saucer, several slices of grapefruit, and a glass of orange juice. Alfred calmly walked over to the desk, picked up the tray, and set it in Helena's lap.

"Thank you, Alfred," said Helena.

"Miss Barbara asked me to relay a set of instructions to you…"

"Don't tell me, let me guess," said Helena as she peeled the rind off a grapefruit slice. "She wants me to stay in bed."

"It seems that you've … 'taken the words right out of my mouth' … so to speak," said Alfred.

"I'm assuming that's the main reason why I'm being served breakfast in bed."

"She noticed last night that you seemed to be suffering physically."

"Yeah," said Helena. "She can be a real mother hen sometimes."

"I heard that," said Barbara from the doorway. "I'll take that as a compliment." She wheeled over to Helena's bedside. "How are you feeling?"

"Still a little sore," said Helena. "Chavez's goons really did a number on me."

"I don't want you aggravating your injuries."

"Excuse me, Miss Barbara," said Alfred. "If my presence is no longer required here, I wish to resume my duties."

"Thank you, Alfred," said Barbara. "That will be all." Alfred then gave a short bow, turned, and left the room.

"Dinah … appeared … to me last night," said Helena after Alfred had left the room.

" 'Appeared' to you … how?" asked Barbara. "Physically? Audibly?"

"She … spoke to me," said Helena. "I'm not sure how she did it … telepathy, maybe?"

"What did she say to you?"

"She told me that it was she who … attacked Chavez."

"Might've been an astral projection," said Barbara.

"An astral _what_…?"

"An astral projection," said Barbara. "It's similar to a ghost in that there's a degree of separation of the spirit … the 'soul', if you will … from the body. The difference between an astral projection and a ghost is that in the case of an astral projection, there isn't the complete separation of the spirit from the body as there would be in the case of a ghost."

"She can _DO_ that?"

"This might be what one might term a 'crisis' apparition," said Barbara. "Normally, she probably can't. However, given the combination of her being in a coma and of her obvious concern for your welfare during this crisis situation…"

"This is her way of looking out for me," said Helena. "I see." Helena paused. "Can they all do what … _she_ did?"

"As a rule, no," said Barbara. "For the simple reason that not everyone possesses Dinah's … considerable … PK powers."

"To tell you the truth, she also told me she was bored stiff," said Helena. "And that her roommate had lousy taste in TV."

Barbara smiled. "Did she tell you anything else?"

"The last time I visited her, I kinda off-handedly threatened to kill the guy who did this to her."

Barbara's smile disappeared. "Did she say anything about that?"

"She said it scared her when I said things like that," said Helena. "Almost as if she'd _HEARD_ me."

"A person in a coma can perceive everything that goes on around them," said Barbara. "They simply cannot generate a response. In all likelihood, she probably _DID_ hear you." Barbara paused. "My advice to you is … next time you visit her, watch what you say around her." Barbara paused once more for effect "Your words could quite literally … come back to haunt you," she said with a smile.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

* * *

_Encrypted Journal Entry -- Barbara Gordon_

_October 14th_

_The police picked up Chavez for brawling after the incident at the 9-1-1 Club. As expected, he's stonewalling like crazy about his car and screaming for an attorney. We just may be onto something here._

_Astral Dinah: THIS has certainly been an … interesting … development. I can't help but find it somewhat … touching … that even in her current … state … Dinah is concerned about the welfare of her friend and partner, the Huntress._

* * *

Ruben Santiago walked into La Croiselle -- one of New Gotham's most expensive French restaurants -- wearing a starched white Panama hat, a white linen suit, a cobalt-blue silk shirt, beige boat shoes, a silver wedding band on his ring finger, dark wraparound sunglasses, and a gold Rolex. He was a tiny, thin man in his late thirties with close-cropped dark hair. The two hulking bodyguards who were flanking him dwarfed him.

Accompanying the trio was Santiago's personal secretary, Pedro. He was a squat, owlish-looking man in his early forties with receding salt-and-pepper hair. Santiago walked alongside Pedro, who was carrying a handheld computer and tapping it with a pen.

The four men greeted the maitre d' -- who was clad in the regulation tuxedo -- and were shown to a table. Santiago's eyes came to rest on the chairs -- which were wood-framed and upholstered in red vinyl.

"Pedro," said Santiago silkily. "You know I do not sit in red chairs."

"Forgive me, Don Santiago," said Pedro. "It slipped my mind when I made the reservation."

Santiago turned to leave. "Come," he said to Pedro and his two bodyguards. "We are going."

"B-b-b-but … Don Santiago," Pedro stammered. "We've had these reservations for over two months!" Pedro paused. "This was _NOT_ an easy table to come by!"

"You know the rules, Pedro."

"_Sí, _Don Santiago," said Pedro as he followed Santiago and his bodyguards meekly out the door.


	7. Chapter Seven

****

Chapter Seven

* * *

"Why'd you shoot Dinah Lance?" demanded Huntress. Jorge Avila was standing spread-eagle with his back against the wall, the sole of Huntress's boot lodged against his Adam's apple. Both of them were in an alley outside the rear of the Anchor Bar.

"Contract," said Avila between gasps.

"Who ordered the hit?"

"Salazar," squeaked Avila. "Carlos Salazar."

"Your boss?"

"_Sí._"

"Why?" Huntress barked. "Why Dinah?"

"I don't ask questions," replied Avila icily. "I'm not _paid_ to ask em."

"Where can I find Salazar?"

"He has a place in the Bronx."

Huntress stared daggers into the eyes of Jorge Avila, her best friend's near-assassin. "After what you did to Dinah Lance, I have a good mind to finish you off right here and now…"

_Helena … Don't, _said Dinah's voice in Huntress's ear.

"Stay out of this," said Huntress to Dinah, teeth clenched.

__

Don't do this … not for me.

"Who said I was doing it for _YOU_?" said Huntress. "I'm just takin' out the garbage."

"Who're you talking to?" asked Avila, his curiosity now piqued by this strange woman who was talking to herself as she stood before him.

"Shut up," Huntress shot back.

_He's not worth it,_ said Dinah. _He's a little fish … He's obviously taking marching orders from Salazar. _Dinah paused. _Neither one of us needs a murder on our conscience._

Huntress removed her boot from Avila's throat, reached over, grabbed the back of his neck, and slammed him against a nearby lightpole. "Hug it," she said to Avila.

"_Qué?_"

"DO IT!" she hissed. With that, he wrapped his arms around the lightpole for dear life. Huntress then produced a pair of plastic handcuffs from her coat pocket and cuffed Avila's wrists together. "Huntress to Oracle, do you copy?" she said into the comm.

"Oracle, here. Over," came the reply.

"Call Reese … tell him I've got the trigger man in the Dinah Lance shooting."

* * *

There was not a sight to be seen in the pitch-black darkness of Carlos Salazar's bedroom. The only signs of life were the moans and feminine giggling that accompanied Salazar's lovemaking that night.

"Hello, Salazar," said a third voice -- The Huntress's -- from out of the darkness.

The woman screamed. Salazar reached over and switched on a table lamp that sat atop a nightstand next to his bed. Huntress stood with her arms across her chest at the foot of his bed. He was a tanned, athletic man in his mid-thirties with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair and beady dark brown eyes. He was wearing a crimson silk robe and a small gold chain around his neck. The woman who was lying next to him -- Prostitute? Girlfriend? It was impossible to tell -- was wearing a blue silk negligee.

"Who are you? What's the meaning of this?" Salazar demanded.

"Can we talk?" asked Huntress. She then turned her attention to the woman who was lying next to him. "You … Out," she commanded, cocking her head to one side.

The woman hastily jumped out of bed and ran out of the room. As she was leaving, Salazar reached under his pillow, pulled out a 9mm, and leveled it at Huntress.

"We have nothing to talk about," said Salazar.

THIS_ is fun, _Huntress thought.

As if pulled by a string, Salazar's shooting arm was suddenly pulled backwards and pinned against the wall. Try as Salazar could to free it, the gun (and the arm that held it) were stuck tight against the wall behind him.

Salazar stared goggle-eyed at the sight. "What's going on? What're you doing?"

Huntress could only close her eyes and shake her head in bemusement. _Dinah, _she thought. _I keep forgetting she's there._ "You'll have to excuse my partner," she said. "She has issues with guns."

"Your _PARTNER?!_"

Huntress calmly walked over to Salazar, snatched the gun out of his hand, and leveled it at him. "Now," she said. "Why'd you put the contract out on Dinah Lance?"

"I didn't."

"That's not what Avila told me."

"Avila is lying," said Salazar. "He's lying to protect Santiago."

"Who's Santiago? And how do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Ruben Santiago … is … my superior," said Salazar.

"Top dog?"

"_Sí._"

"You still haven't answered my question … how do I know you're telling the truth?"

"I will be dead soon," said Salazar resignedly. "I have no incentive to lie."

"Waddya mean 'you'll be dead soon'?"

"My life is forfeit … Santiago does not trust me."

"Why not?"

"I would not do what he wanted."

"He wanted you to kill Dinah Lance."

"It was nothing personal," said Salazar. "My orders were to kill a child."

"And Dinah just happened to be the first one to cross Chavez and Avila's path … right?"

"_Sí,_" said Salazar. "Unlike Santiago, I am not a monster."

"So when you wouldn't bite, he made the contract directly with Chavez and Avila … am I getting warm here?"

"_Sí._"

"Why'd he go after Dinah?"

"He wanted to draw out the Batman," said Salazar. "He blames him for sending him to prison."

_Ambitious little snot, _thought Huntress. "Tell me about Santiago."

"The man is insane," said Salazar angrily. "He's heavily into mysticism. He has his own personal astrologer. He only carries out jobs on days that the astrologer says are most favorable to him." Salazar paused. "He considers the colors red and black to be unlucky. He won't ride in red or black cars, sit in red or black seats … this goes for theaters, restaurants, airplanes … or wear red or black clothes."

Huntress looked down at the sleeve of her black leather coat and smiled. _The color black is about to prove _VERY_ unlucky for Mr. Santiago, _she thought.

"And to top it all off, he expects to be called 'Don' Santiago," said Salazar, rolling his eyes. "I'm telling you, the man's seen 'The Godfather' too many times!" Salazar paused. "He's living in a fantasy world. He fancies himself as being this Mafia kingpin."

"How many are there in the Golden Bats? Do you know?"

"Ten … fifteen. A handful."

_Not exactly a major gang. _"Lie facedown on the floor and put your hands behind your head."

"What?"

"Do it."

Having said this, Salazar got out of bed, lay facedown on the floor, and put his hands behind his head.

"Now," said Huntress. "I want you to count to a thousand … _SLOWLY._"

"One … two … three…" As Salazar began counting, Huntress swiftly and silently backed out of the bedroom, left the house, and disappeared into the night.


	8. Chapter Eight

****

Chapter Eight

* * *

"Ruben Santiago," said Barbara as she read the rap sheet that was displayed on her computer screen. "Colombian … thirty-nine … has priors for drug trafficking and assault with a deadly weapon."

Helena's eyebrows shot up in amazement. "He's _THIRTY-NINE?!_"

"Pathetic, isn't it?" said Barbara. "A middle-aged man playing a teenager's game." She then resumed reading the rap sheet. "According to this, he just got out of prison six months ago after doing ten years for drug trafficking."

"He doesn't know," said Helena. "About Batman being … gone." Helena paused. "There's something I don't understand..."

"What?"

"How did Dinah know where to … find me? I mean, I could've been anywhere in this city."

"As near as I can tell, there's always been a psychic link between you two."

"Really?"

"How else do you explain her seeing your mother being killed from over a thousand miles away?"

"If that's the case, then you should share a link with her as well," said Helena. "She saw Joker shoot you." Helena paused. "I wonder why she hasn't spoken to you."

"I don't know," said Barbara. "Maybe she hasn't felt the need."

* * *

Carlos Salazar was sitting in the La Teresita Café, dining on _paella con pollo _and a side order of tomatoes stuffed with Spanish rice. A bald, hulking figure of a man in his late twenties walked in wearing a black trenchcoat and a paper clip earring. He walked over to Salazar and stood before him.

"May I help you?" asked Salazar.

Without saying a word, the bald man reached inside his coat, pulled a 9mm out from behind his back, aimed it at Salazar's forehead, and fired. Salazar slumped forward into his _paella_, dead.

Coolly and calmly, the bald man tucked the 9mm back into his waistband, walked out the door, and vanished into the night.

* * *

Pedro stood in the produce aisle at O'Brien's Food Mart, squeezing a beefsteak tomato amidst a display of bell peppers, cucumbers, tomatoes, lettuce, and celery.

Coolly and calmly, the same trenchcoat-wearing bald man who had shot Salazar earlier walked up behind Pedro, reached into his trenchcoat, pulled the 9mm out from behind him, leveled it at the back of Pedro's head, and fired. Pedro collapsed onto the floor, dead -- the tomato slipping from his grasp as he fell.

Just as coolly and calmly as he came, the bald man tucked the 9mm back into his waistband, turned around, and left.


	9. Chapter Nine

****

Chapter Nine

* * *

_Encrypted Journal Entry -- Barbara Gordon_

_November 8th_

_Huntress is going after Santiago. It's not a question of _IF_ so much as a question of _WHEN. _Knowing Huntress, she won't bother to inform me when she does._

_She's out for blood … out for it in the worst way. I fear that her bloodlust is going to get her killed. Never in my seventeen years as a crimefighter have I felt as helpless as I do right now. This is not a feeling that I relish._

* * *

It was midnight. Santiago -- dressed in his regulation white Panama and starched white linen suit -- stood with four henchmen who wore black suits in a shadowy grove of pine trees near the northwest corner of Central Park. Four other burly men stood across from them. A large black duffel bag and a navy blue gym bag sat between the men. Santiago whispered in conspiratorial Spanish with the leader of the other four men.

"Hi, boys," said a voice from the darkness -- Huntress's. "Can I play?"

The men turned towards the voice. Huntress stood just to the left of the men.

"You are beginning to get under my skin, _Seňora_," said Santiago bitterly.

"What's on the menu tonight, Santiago?" taunted Huntress. "Heroin? Cocaine? Hash?"

Santiago nodded to two of his henchmen. Both of them reached into their jackets, as if to draw weapons.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said another voice -- male, baritone -- from the darkness.

"Who's there?" cried Santiago. All present were now on the alert.

"You don't know?" said the voice quizzically. "Word on the street is that you wanted to _MEET_ me."

_Dad?_ Huntress thought.

"Don't just stand there," barked Santiago to his henchmen. "_KILL HIM!_"

Just as Santiago's henchmen were reaching into their jackets and preparing to draw their weapons, a pair of Bat-shaped throwing stars came flying out of the darkness and struck both men in the chest -- just narrowly missing the heart.

"Be careful what you wish for," said the voice.

"_BATMAN!_" screamed a henchman, recognizing the throwing stars. Hearing that, everyone except Huntress, the stranger, and Santiago scattered in all directions.

"It's been too long, Batman," cried Santiago.

Unseen by The Huntress, the glowing red dot of a laser sight traveled up her spine -- and came to a stop at the nape of her neck. "SNIPER!" the stranger screamed as he wrestled her to the ground and shielded her body with his own. "GET DOWN! GET DOWN! GET DOWN!"

_Strange, _thought Huntress, _I always figured Batman as being taller._ All the while, three cracks of a rifle could be heard in the background.

Just as quickly as the shooting began, it ended. Huntress looked up from her place underneath the stranger's body -- Santiago was nowhere to be found. _Damn._ She then gulped nervously. _Do I have a corpse on my back? _she wondered. She then opted for the direct approach.

"Hey … buddy," she asked the stranger. "You OK?"

The stranger stirred slightly. "I'm fine," came a familiar -- and feminine -- reply … Barbara's.

"How…"

"I'm wearing body armor."

"Oh," said Huntress. "I see."

Barbara gingerly rolled herself off Huntress's back, taking care to make sure that the sniper was nowhere to be found. "Our sniper appears to have vanished," said Barbara. Turning her attention back to Huntress, she then added, "Let's get out of here."

* * *

Back at the Clocktower, Huntress was finally able to get a better look at Barbara's faux Batman costume. The costume was obviously cobbled together -- she was wearing a black floor-length cape, a black jumpsuit, black gloves, black tactical boots, and a full black cowl that was draped over the back of her neck.

"Where'd you get the voice from?" asked Huntress.

"This", said Barbara as she held up a small black device that was about the size of a pack of cigarettes. A small microphone dangled from the end of the device.

"What is it?"

Barbara studied the device. "Voice synthesizer."

"I guess I should've known you'd be prowling around."

"How'd you know about the deal?"

"Tip from Fredo." Huntress paused. "How'd _YOU_ know about the deal?"

"Dinah told me about your tip from Fredo," said Barbara.

"It didn't shock you that she spoke to you?"

"You told me that she had spoken to you," said Barbara. "At first I was somewhat … hesitant … to act upon what I had heard."

"You couldn't believe what you were hearing."

"Essentially, yes," said Barbara. "At the same time, if there was any truth at all in what she was saying, I didn't want to take a chance on you getting killed." Barbara paused. "We would've gotten Santiago eventually … why the rush?"

"I did it for Dinah."

"Do you really think she'd want you embarking on a suicide mission?"Barbara snapped. "Did it ever _ONCE_ occur to you that Santiago would have an armed posse with him?"

"I didn't care."

"And what would you have gained by killing yourself?" grilled Barbara. "You would've been dead … and Santiago and his pals would've walked free."

"Dunno," said Huntress. "Guess I wasn't thinking."

_Why doesn't that surprise me? _Barbara thought.

"I suppose the Batsuit was part of the plan?" asked Huntress.

"Part of it, yes."

"Where'd you get it? It doesn't look like the sort of thing Batgirl would've had in her closet."

"The cowl I've had for a while," said Barbara. "And the cape was once part of an old Halloween costume."

"Where'd you learn to fling those throwing stars?"

"There's a lot … I haven't told you about myself," said Barbara cryptically.

"Thanks ... for being there," said Huntress softly.

"Really, Huntress ... did you think for one minute that I'd let you take on a cutthroat psychopath like Santiago without backup?" At that moment, the phone rang. Barbara reached over and answered it. "Hello?" she said into the receiver. "Yes, this is Barbara Gordon … that's wonderful … we'll be over there later on today … thank you very much … good-bye."

"Well?" asked Huntress as Barbara hung up the phone.

"That was the hospital," said Barbara with a smile. "Dinah's out of her coma."


	10. Chapter Ten

****

Chapter Ten

* * *

"You had me going for a minute there," said Helena later on that morning in the Clocktower. She was standing in the doorway of Barbara's office.

"My objective was Santiago," said Barbara. She was sitting in her office, reading the newspaper.

"That makes two of us," said Helena. "By the way, where'd you get the throwing stars?"

Barbara suddenly looked up from the newspaper, stone-faced. A flood of supposedly long-forgotten memories came rushing back into her consciousness.

"Barbara? You OK?" Helena inquired, concerned.

"I'm fine," Barbara replied quietly. "Your father … issued them … to me … before he left," she said, answering Helena's question.

"My father gave them to you?"

"They're pieces of equipment," Barbara replied flatly. "He'd always intended them to be used." Barbara paused. "I rarely do, though," she said quietly. "Out of respect for … Bruce."

* * *

"Sorry we couldn't get Santiago," said Helena. She was sitting by Dinah's bedside at St. Vincent's Hospital.

"That's OK," said Dinah. "You're always telling me, 'Stuff happens?' "

Helena smiled. "Yeah … more-or-less."

"We'll get em next time, huh?"

"Yeah … next time." Helena reached down onto the floor, picked up a small gift-wrapped package, and gave it to Dinah. "Gotcha something."

Dinah accepted the package. "What is it?"

"Open it."

Dinah unwrapped the package. Inside was a DVD of the movie "Ghost".

"Your first complete movie," said Helena with a grin. "Think you can handle it?"

Dinah grinned a toothy grin. "Thanks," she said. "You don't know what this means to me."

"What are friends for?" Helena replied. "Good to have you back."

"Good to be back," said Dinah with a smile.

THE END


End file.
